The Dubai Alibi
by Sare Liz
Summary: I would like to throw a party. So, could you get the house in Dubai ready, please?" AU and spoiler for the deleted scenage, but definitely T/P. One shot.


**Title**: The Dubai Alibi  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Marvel's.

**Continuity**: AU – continuous to the deleted scenes of the film.  
**Warnings**: AU, Spoiler to deleted scenes

**Author**: I've heard some people have a negative reaction to the deleted Dubai Party scene, but I really dig it. Tony is a smart man, and a rich one, and once his initial rage died away after the Fireman's Benefit, I really do think his rather significant intelligence would have kicked in. The Dubai Party was, in essence, a brilliant move on his part, and while I'm not sure it's credible that he could get into his suit in five minutes on his own, it may be that he brought more machinery to help him with that than we saw. In fact, that's what I'm going to assume.

--

"Jarvis, what sort of psychological training have you had?" Pepper asked as she walked back to her perch atop the wooden stool next to the petrified tree coffee table in her boss's living room. She would call up the numbers and get the ball rolling on the party in Dubai in just a moment, but right now she had to arrange for something else, first.

"My databases include general knowledge on the subject, and the ongoing maintenance of my personality matrix has required some of my own… research on the subject. Why do you ask, Miss Potts?"

"Jarvis, I think it's time that you become very well versed in the subject of psychology. Start chronologically and work your way through the different medical models and divergent views until you've gotten through the more modern, holistic theories. Then analyze Mr. Stark, paying particular attention to his behavior since he returned from Afghanistan."

"Yes, Miss Potts."

"When do you estimate you will be able to accomplish this?"

"50 hours is a conservative estimate."

"Alert me when you've finished and reached your conclusions, whenever that is."

"Yes, Miss Potts."

"Oh, and Jarvis? I don't see that we need to mention this to Mr. Stark unless he specifically asks about it, do you?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

--

It wasn't her first clue that something very, very strange was going on. She knew Tony Stark, and she knew Strange. She knew when strange and Tony Stark intersected, and she knew that relatively speaking, he was rarely strange.

No, that wasn't it. Pepper knew him, knew his habits, knew his peccadilloes, knew most if not all of his kinks, and she knew what was normal _for him._

This was not normal for him. She was the one who hired these flight attendants, after all. She was the one who wrote up their contracts that included their mandatory monthly health screenings and the clauses that protected them, should they decide upon a sudden change in career. She knew precisely what happened on these flights, because HR didn't have oversight on Tony's personal service providers – his body guards, his chauffer, his pilot and flight attendants, the managers of his other houses – she did. She oversaw them all. It was all part and parcel of providing anything that Mr. Stark requires. To say the least, Pepper Potts knew what was normal for her boss, and this was not it.

He was ignoring the flight attendants. In fact, he had just gone to bed alone, and ordered them not to disturb him. Pepper was sure it might have happened once or twice before – statistically speaking in the last seven years, it must have happened at least once – but it was still abnormal behavior. Alone, it might not have been a strange occurrence, but this incident did not stand alone.

It started with the press conference. That was officially strange, and it was the first of the strange occurrences in the adult life of Anthony Edward Stark. The strangeness continued in a quiet way with the lack of girls in and out of the house, though admittedly, he didn't go out to find them. Which was another thing, as well.

And then there was the matter of the piece of machinery in his chest. After that incident, she'd had Jarvis pull up the schematics for her to look at, and had him walk her through the design. She wondered how it had originated – she imagined he hadn't put it in on his own. Had they tortured him? Was this the product of that? Before the arc reactor – which was clearly of his own design and make – did they have him hooked up to something, something they could easily pull the plug on? And how did he manage to build anything at all? What had been going on during those three months? He'd looked touseled and stiff and a little banged up in his Armani when he stepped gingerly off the plane, but his persona was firmly in place – so much so that the wheelchair behind him looked out of place. But that couldn't have been the case. Something happened back there, something that accounts for the strangeness in the here and now.

It wasn't strange for Tony to spend time in his garage, tinkering. It _was_ strange for him to be down there for weeks, even with the informal leave he'd taken on Obadiah's recommendation. Though she was loathe to admit it as such, the holding pattern she'd been in for the past three months seemed somehow to be continuing. And that was strange as well. He wasn't working, he wasn't networking, he wasn't running his business. He wasn't meeting with the engineers, he wasn't writing proposals, he wasn't wooing Senators or Members of Congress. He wasn't partying and hobnobbing.

He was working in his basement on things that go bang in the afternoon, if not bump in the night. He was working on mechanized boots and gloves and flight stabilizers that were not _originally_ intended to be weapons, however much they seemed to be. Jarvis was mum, but Pepper was smart, and hadn't gotten her job on the basis of her looks.

Something had happened in Afghanistan, something that explained the present day Tony Stark.

And just when she thought she understood what was going on, when they had kissed on the balcony of the Disney Ballroom, he disappeared.

"I don't want to fuck this up," he murmured, his eyes wide and dark as they pulled back from one another. She swallowed harshly and took a deep breath as her hope and her dread had a knock-down drag-out fight in her abdomen.

"I would like a drink," she replied, trying to gather her self together, explaining just what sort of drink she wanted.

But then he'd disappeared. She didn't have much of the party spirit in her after that, so she made the few contacts she needed to before she left, and went home. It was one in the morning when she received a call from him, though not the call she had hoped for. He was all business, again, and perhaps it was for the best.

And when she went down into his workshop 25 minutes later, slowing as she went, she saw a scene she did not expect. Staring vacantly at the missing Intelliglass panels, the hugely damaged and scattered classic cars that were normally lined up and in pristine condition, her right hand automatically rose to punch in her security code, but of course there was nothing there. She saw him in profile, all dressed up and sitting calmly in his leather chair at the sitting area. _Pensive_ was the flash of insight that seemed out of place in all of the chaos and destruction that was his private sanctuary. This, for the man who liked things just so.

She went to open the door, but of course, she hadn't entered the code, so it was locked. As she went to walk around, wincing at each crunch and crackle of broken glass under her shoes, she heard his serious, yet darkly comic comment.

"Careful, the door's sticking."

As if that explained everything. It looked like a warzone down here. "What happened here?" she asked, still somewhat stunned and not quite able to process everything that she was taking in.

"Broken glass."

If she hadn't known him better, she would have thought that multiple personalities might be an issue. It was clear that he had broken the glass. But how could he have done such damage to his cars? The cars he loved? And how was he physically able to do it? It looked like he'd dropped one on the other.

"What's the emergency?" she asked, confused, and beginning to get a little annoyed. She hadn't even taken off her coat, with the vague idea that the emergency might explain why he'd left her at the party. But though the scene looked chaotic, her boss seemed to be fine.

"I would like to throw a party."

On the surface it sounded like the old Tony. …And yet, it really didn't. It was a complete non-sequiter. It was very strange.

"So, could you get the house in Dubai ready, please?"

"Now?" she asked incredulously. He was calling her over at one in the morning to organize and emergency party in _Dubai?_

"Yep," was the only thing he said. But there was something about the way he said it. It was an emergency. Something had happened. Something had happened after he left her at the party. Something had happened that made him desecrate his own sanctuary. Something that made a party in Dubai necessary, and she could see it going on in the background behind his eyes, behind his calm, reclined demeanor.

"Sure," she replied. Beginning to put pieces of the puzzle together, still not knowing what the picture was turning out to be.

Whatever it was undoubtedly involved flight stabilizers on the palms of his hands that doubled as weapons, and wherever he had intended to fly off to, Dubai was closer to it than Malibu.

"Thanks," he said, and smiled. It was not his normal grin. It was that strange smile that only turned up now and again, the smile that said, 'yes, something is going on, and no, you're going to have to figure it out for yourself.'

It was only after she got upstairs to where she left her purse on the coffee table, after she instructed Jarvis to educate himself, and after she started making a few calls that she figured out another piece of the puzzle.

"Hey Potts," he buzzed through the house intercom that showed up on one of Jarvis' interactive panels on the coffee table.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, muting her conversation on the other line with the caterers in Dubai.

"I'm gonna need some fireworks, and I'll have more luggage than usual. Get a size two cargo transport over here. I'll have it stacked and labeled in the garage. I want the party rocking when we arrive. We leave in two hours."

"_We,_ sir?"

"You're coming, too, Pepper. No excuses."

"How long will we be in Dubai?"

"Not long. In and out."

"Just to party," she said, the statement not quite a question.

"Just to party."

With that the intercom clicked off. She could call the caterers back, she thought, finishing up the preliminaries with them as she gathered up her things to leave the house.

"Jarvis, please make sure that Mr. Stark leaves in time to make his flight."

She left before she heard the AI's response, and before she pulled away, she was on the phone with the groggy head of the flight crew. She mentally promised them very nice Christmas bonuses this year. Happy was next, and by the time she was home she'd contacted her liason at the SI depot who would have a truck out to pick up Tony's gear within the hour.

Tony's gear.

What in God's name had Tony been building and testing down there? Undoubtedly it was legal, but only in the sense that what the government does not yet know about, it cannot legislate against. Which meant that the party in Dubai was doubly convenient. It would be closer to whatever he wanted, and it would provide an alibi.

An alibi which apparently Pepper herself was a part of. It wouldn't be the first time.

--

Walking through the house as the early morning light streamed in, wondering about breakfast and coffee, and not thinking much about Tony, because perhaps he decided not to do whatever he'd planned after all, after finding those girls. After all, it had been a while, and it wasn't unlike him to get sidetracked. She walked through the house, seeing the sleepy and occasionally still wakeful human detritus of the party, she walked through a curtained enclosure and was brought up short when she saw her boss. Wrapped in smoking metal that looked too big for him.

"Hey."

There was a drink in his hand. He looked like he'd collapsed onto the chair. He blew some of the smoke that was getting in his eyes away.

"Get me out of here."

She didn't move. It didn't look like he could move. People were starting to wake up. Soon they'd be moving around.

"How?" she asked, taking a step closer, and then stopping again.

She followed his instructions, but even with the so-called emergency release mechanisms, it was hard going.

"I designed this stuff to come off," he remarked, but Pepper only gave him a dirty look as she tugged harder on his shoulder, stumbling back when it finally gave way.

"Where does all this stuff go?"

"There's a box the size of a casket on the second floor, in one of the rooms with a balcony."

"Oh, that's very helpful."

He shrugged and took another drink before putting it down again and trying to get his boot off with his recently freed arm as Pepper went around to the other side to work on that shoulder.

"How did you get all of this on?"

"I brought Dummy and his friends."

"And where are they now?" she asked, never pausing in her work. It was very clear to her that she was racing against the clock to preserve whatever alibi he'd created for himself.

"Upstairs in the room with the balcony."

"Again, very helpful," she replied, her voice rising and falling depending on whether or not she was trying to yank something off just in that moment.

"I'm sure they'd have the edge of efficiency over you."

She glared at him, and with one tremendous pull, freed up his other shoulder.

"Breastplate next. Come on."

She leaned over him, trying to find the release mechanism he had described. One worked perfectly, the other seemed jammed. She circled around to the other side, but ended up still with an awkward position, half leaning over him.

"Move your leg a little. Thanks," she said, straddling his thigh as she pushed with all of her might on the release. Just as it clicked, the curtain behind her moved and a gasp was heard.

Instantly, Tony pulled her down onto his thigh. His arms, freed and now clad only in an odd neoprene, circled around her and even as he pulled her hair free of its tie, obscuring his face and upper body with it, he moaned out quite audibly, " Oh, _God,_ Pepper, you're so _kinky."_

The metal underneath her thighs was cold and organically formed like massive musculature. Regaining he balance somewhat, she leaned into him and did her best to cover the metal bits she thought might still be visible on his upper body.

She had no idea if the person had left yet, so she decided to go for it while she could. She momentarily buried her nose at the back of his neck, where the metal met the man. He was sweaty and bleeding, but she'd still take him, if only he'd get his head out of his ass.

"You smell nice. Are they gone?" he whispered softly into her ear.

She moaned and flipped her hair around to further obfuscate him as she looked behind her.

"Yes," she replied, sitting up straight and away from him. She remained perched on his thigh, though. She took hold of his breastplate pulled and wiggled it until it popped free. She was somewhat dismayed to find that there was something underneath it that also needed to come off. He shifted, though, and whatever was on his back sloughed off onto the chair, and he lifted the remaining webbed metal yoke off, right over his head.

"I can get the rest from here. Go get the box and bring it down here. And get me some coffee. And a shower. I want a shower. And then we're gone."

Of course, his hands were on her hips, like it was the most natural place for them to be. And her hands were resting on his shoulders, like it was normal to be sitting on his leg like this, looking down at battle worn face. Without thinking, she brushed a lock of hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"I'll put the first aide kit in the master bath," she murmured.

"You do that." His voice was soft and gravelly. His hands moved up from her hips to circle her waist.

Pepper found herself leaning in, her palm cuping the side of his face, avoiding the cuts oozing blood. She tilted her head and leaned down. She brushed her lips over his once, and then again before he opened his mouth. Their tongues entwined, and it was a kiss that was every bit as sweet as the one they shared only 24 hours before. It was every bit as sweet, if not tinged with a bit of desperation.

"Have I already fucked this up?" he asked, not meeting her eyes as they broke apart.

"Yes," she replied softly. She caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow. "But not irrevocably," she added.

They shared another soft, short kiss before she got up and pulled the hem of her little black dress back where it should be. She took her white jacket off and draped it over the mess of red metal on the table in front of him.

Tony gave out a low whistle. "You're looking good, Potts."

She raised her eyebrow again. She was a few steps away, but she paused to turn back and address him. "You should know," she said softly, "that I insist on monogamy in my partners."

Pepper watched his lips quirk as he tried to restrain a smile. "I can handle that."

"I don't like it when you wander off with girls on your arms."

"It was a cover. I left before it got interesting."

"I'll be your cover the next time."

"You were my cover the next time."

She raised an eyebrow that begged him to stop splitting hairs.

"Okay," he conceded. "Message received. Go get my box?" he asked, a look of sweet innocence on his face again.

Ten minutes later she returned with his bathrobe and a cup of espresso. She brought them into him before she went to drag in the box, which had been, per her orders, left just outside the curtain.

--The End--


End file.
